You See Before You A Man On The Brink
by elfmaiden4legs
Summary: ****Reid's been sleeping in his office since his wife's absence in his life. That canvas bed couldn't have been too kind on his wounded shoulder. What if Sergeant Drake were to have walked in on him in the early hours of the morning? What if his friends were to discover that the Inspector were a man himself now on the brink? Jackson is summoned and charged to take care of him!


**You See Before You A Man On The Brink**

Detective Inspector Reid entered his office and closed the door quietly behind him. The hour was late, and Jackson and Drake had both gone home to their respective wives hours ago, as had most of the rest of the men. The station was now eerily quiet, and only those on the nightshift remained. Reid reproached himself for his envy of those with a home to return to at the end of their working day. He himself hadn't returned to his own in days – the house he had once shared with his wife and little girl felt cold and hollow now that there was no warm body for him to return to at the end of the working day, and when he did return the dark, empty rooms which had once echoed with a child's laughter and given fruit to a marriage born of love only added to his pain.

He cast a weary glance over the papers which littered his desk – reports concerning their latest case – before loosening his tie, stripping off his jacket, and clambering into the makeshift bed he had constructed himself. It wasn't the most comfortable place he had ever slept, but it was at least dry even if it wasn't always warm – somewhere to rest his weary head. It certainly beat aimlessly wandering the soiled streets of London's East End until the early hours of the morning, breathing in the putrid air as he searched in vain for a lodging house upstanding enough to lay his head.

He grimaced as he struggled to get comfortable. He seemed to be in almost constant pain these days, and he didn't think the hard mattress he'd slept on for the past three nights running could be helping matters much. A dry heat radiated from his forehead and he failed to suppress a hacking cough. The dull ache in his shoulder had progressed to an intense throbbing prompting a sharp stabbing pain in his neck and head recently, and it frequently made it difficult for him to draw breath. Sometimes it felt as though he were being suffocated by his own pain, but still he bore his burden in silence, giving no clue to the rest of the men as to the true extent of his suffering. His wounds were his penance for being unable to save the life of his own little girl, and like a true upholder of Her Majesty's law he accepted his sentence quietly and without protest.

This time of night was the only time he allowed his sorrow to escape him, and as he failed to suppress another coughing fit, this time more sudden and violent than the last, the tears began to roll down his cheeks, helping to quell some of the heat radiating from his warm skin.

A candle burned slowly upon his desk, casting the small office in an eerie glow, and he watched it flicker as his eyes quickly closed – his eyelids were heavy, and it was only now that Reid suddenly became aware of how incredibly tired he really was. A couple of times he fancied he saw his wife's and little daughter's faces looking back at him from amongst the shadows. They were staring down at him accusingly from above, and he screwed his eyes tightly shut. He didn't want to see their angry faces, he preferred to remember them both as they once were – happy and content with the hand life had dealt them. He burrowed his aching head into the soft pillows – hoping that it wouldn't take him too long to fall asleep – and as his body sank even deeper into the canvas mattress he shivered, his whole torso momentarily wracked by a violent shaking, although it was neither through cold nor due to fear. His chest ached after a day of trying to keep the act of inhaling and exhaling – which most people seemed to take for granted – slow and even, so as not to aggravate the pain in his shoulder, and he drifted in and out of consciousness in this state for several hours, struggling to take small, shallow breaths. As the hours ticked by a cold sweat broke out upon his forehead, and the shivers returned. Salty perspiration ran down the back of his neck and plastered stray strands of his dark hair to his forehead before being dried by the warmth of his flesh. The pain in his shoulder became increasingly worse, until no amount of massage would ease the intensity of his discomfort. His sleep was fitful and plagued by dark dreams. His wife and child were a part of them also, and he cried out as he reached for them both. He watched his daughter slip away from him over and over again, before running from empty room to empty room calling her name. He couldn't allow himself to believe that they had both left him, that he was now alone, and it was in this condition that Sergeant Drake walked in on him – pale and shaking – in the early hours of the morning.

Reid was only partially awake when he first discovered him, but quickly regained consciousness. The Sergeant covered him with a blanket and as Reid began to talk he was relieved to discover that his mind at least appeared rational, but his face remained contorted with pain. He seemed unable to move without it causing him significant discomfort and against the Inspector's protests Drake quickly dispatched a constable to call upon Jackson and insist that he come at once.

Reid continued to speak whilst they waited for the American doctor to arrive – predominantly about the most recent case they'd been working on – but Drake suspected that this was probably due to the embarrassment he felt over being caught in a moment of weakness, and a need to maintain some semblance of normality. His voice was weak however, and he made no attempt to move or sit up.

Drake listened patiently to the Inspector's words. He didn't push him to reveal the nature of what ailed him – he figured that all would be revealed once Jackson arrived – but even so he couldn't help but stifle a sigh of relief as he observed the young constable's return through the Detective Inspector's office window, and heard the disgruntled grumblings of the Captain follow him from not too far behind. Sergeant Drake rose from the seat he had taken at Reid's desk, and as he did so Jackson entered the small office alone – looking a little the worse for wear himself, and evidently unhappy about having been torn from his bed in the middle of the night – and closed the door behind him. His eyes were heavy as though he'd been drinking, which wasn't uncharacteristic of the young American, but his hand was steady and as he noticed Reid lying upon the bed before him his concern became immediately evident.

"What happened?" He questioned Sergeant Drake as he knelt on the floor at the Inspector's side and gently prised the man's eyelids open to take a look at his pupils and the colour of the flesh inside, before gently massaging the fleshy area either side of the Inspector's jaw bone to check for enlarged glands. This was a standard test to check for any sign of infection, and Jackson was relieved to find that they were not swollen.

He carried a bag on his person – he had very little use for standard medical supplies throughout the course of his day to day duties, dealing as he predominantly did with the dead and the many corpses which came through the station's doors throughout the course of the normal working day – but being a qualified physician all knew that such a bag must have existed in his possession, even if they didn't get to see it very often, and he placed it down on the floor beside him as the Sergeant shrugged and shook his head.

"I don't know. I just found him like this." Drake explained, and Reid slowly opened his eyes as Jackson carefully placed the back of one cool hand to his warm forehead, and frowned as he felt the heat radiating from the dry flesh beneath. There was very little distance between the two men and the doctor noticed something sad and pleading within the Detective Inspector's eyes.

"He's very warm." The Captain explained, keeping his voice soft and as hushed as possible so as not to aggravate Reid's pain as he moved the heels of his palms down to also check the temperature of his cheeks. "But I don't think it's as a result of infection. There's no sign of fever. Still," he considered thoughtfully, "it's better to be sure."

He removed a small glass thermometer from the scarred leather bag at his feet and shook it vigorously. Sergeant Drake hadn't had any cause to come into contact with the small implement himself throughout the course of his own life but he understood it to be a relatively recent invention, used for measuring a person's body temperature. He had no clue as to their accuracy, but had heard that they used a small amount of mercury encased within an internal glass tube to take the reading. He also knew that they were still reasonably rare, but that was about the full extent of his knowledge.

"Keep this under your tongue for a few minutes." Jackson explained to Reid as he instructed the Inspector to open his mouth and offered the tiny implement to him, before placing two fingers to his wrist in order to check his pulse – which he noticed was beating much faster than usual and so moved his fingers up to the side of his neck in order to double check his findings. Whilst the thermometer was still taking its reading he then removed a stethoscope from the bag beside him and placed the bell of the instrument to Reid's chest, listening carefully to the sound of his respirations as Drake looked on, failing to disguise his concern.

"His heartbeat is rapid, and his lungs sound a little congested, but there's no sign of anything too serious." He sighed in relief after a few moments, and as he carefully removed the thermometer from underneath the Inspector's tongue Reid licked his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. "But his temperature is slightly raised." He explained.

"Jackson… morphine… please…" Reid, who had maintained his silence since the doctor's arrival, now spoke weakly through tightly clenched teeth, and Jackson frowned as he wiped the end of the thermometer upon the sleeve cuff of his coat and shook it again to restore the mercury to its original state.

"Reid, where do you hurt?" Jackson asked as he observed the Inspector's slightly trembling figure, taking note of his pale complexion, rapid heart rate and the heat radiating from his skin – and everything suddenly began to fall into place. Extreme pain could place enormous strain upon the body, and would almost certainly account for every one of the symptoms Reid was experiencing now. The Captain couldn't understand how he hadn't recognised the man's distress before this night, and marvelled at the Inspector's evidently enormous capacity for concealing his own pain.

"Shoulder…" Reid gasped as he gritted his teeth and pressed the heal of his own palm into the mottled and damaged flesh concealed beneath several layers of clothing. They'd all seen the wound, Sergeant Drake and Jackson amongst them. Jackson had never seen to press the Inspector on how he had obtained it, each man had after all a right to keep his secrets, unmolested by curious inquisitors, but he'd often wondered whether it caused him pain.

"How long has it been since you last slept in a proper bed Reid?" The American wondered out loud as he placed the stethoscope and thermometer back into the bag and prepared a syringe of morphine. Despite his own inclination towards the recreational use of certain narcotic substances the surgeon was sparing in his use of the drug in his professional capacity, which was highly costly and well known for its addictive properties. Laudanum was cheaper and easier to obtain, but not quite so effective at treating pain – and it too, as with all opium based drugs, was highly addictive.

The needle was slightly blunt and Reid flinched both visibly and audibly as it punctured both flesh and muscle and he felt the burning sting as it dispersed its contents into the bloodstream. He looked to Jackson and then to Drake with an appeal in his eyes, but his lips remained sealed and silent, and although not renowned for his subtlety the Captain had enough tact and diplomacy to dispatch Drake to fetch a handsome cab, deciding that Reid should return with him to Tenter Street where he could keep a close eye on him, and administer more morphine if he so required it.

"You know Reid," Jackson sighed once Drake had left, "a man knows when something is amiss within his own house. You are already aware that I know Susan has been having your clothes washed and laundered for you, and I suspect that she has been seeing you well fed also. It doesn't take a genius to figure out the reason why, only a man observant enough to recognise the evidence presented before his own eyes."

"You flatter yourself Captain." Reid spoke through clenched teeth. The morphine hadn't yet had enough time to take effect, and he still held his shoulder in a claw-like grasp – turning his knuckles white. "But I won't deny that there is truth in your observations." He confessed.

"There is a room going spare back at the house," Jackson explained, "Ida's place has not yet been filled. I know a tart's boudoir might not exactly be to a Detective Inspector's taste, but the beds are comfortable and the rooms are warm. It would do you good to get some rest in a proper bed for a change, and that morphine is going to wear off after a few hours. You're going to need further medical attention before the night is out."

"The cab's waiting outside sir." Sergeant Drake announced upon his return, and Reid looked from the American, to his Sergeant, and back again. He wasn't sure his pride could take another beating, it was already bruised as a result of having been discovered in a moment of such ugly weakness. His daughter was dead, he'd come to accept the fact now, and his wife was in an asylum – driven to drink and despair by the fact that her husband had been unable to save the life of their little girl.

Inspector Reid was a man himself now on the brink. Finding himself having to be escorted from the premises by the American surgeon, and from there conveyed to the whore house he and his wife Susan called home, might just finish his reputation off with the rest of the men. Even so he was in no position to refuse Jackson's offer of help. He was exhausted, and still in pain, and the prospect of a proper bed for the night – plump pillows and soft, warm sheets laundered in soap – was just too tempting an offer to refuse. He'd surrendered his claim to his dignity the day he had gone to Long Susan and accepted her offer to launder his shirts for him.

Inspector Reid nodded his reluctant thanks. "I don't see that I have much choice but to accept your offer Jackson." He breathed, beginning to feel the first signs of weariness creeping over him and obscuring consciousness as the morphine began to take effect, "But you must understand that I do so reluctantly, although not through any sense of ingratitude."

Jackson nodded. He quite understood the Inspectors meaning.

"Help him sit up Sergeant." He instructed Drake, turning to the rough and ready officer whose own concern was still readable by the troubled expression upon his face, as he himself took the blanket from Reid's still slightly shivering form and began to roll it up. "But be careful not to jar him." He emphasized.

Reid grimaced and extruded a deep moan as he was helped to move, despite the fact that Drake's hold was surprisingly tender and gentle as he grasped the Inspector around the waist and levered him into a sitting position. This action, although small, was enough to set the pain in his shoulder throbbing again and send a sharp shot of lightening like pain down his arm and up into the base of his neck and he found himself unable to even express his thanks to the Sergeant for his help. Instead he sat, fingers boring deep into the mass of crushed bone and scarred flesh he called a shoulder, and breathing heavily as he prayed that the pain would subside again soon.

"What do you think ails him?" Sergeant Drake pulled the American aside meanwhile, and whispered to him out of ear shot of the young Detective.

"His shoulder's been shattered." Jackson sighed. "That scar he's got is evidence that he's sustained a severe burn at some point. Scar tissue can be enormously painful. All I can tell you is that he's been given enough morphine to knock out a wild horse, if he's still hurting then he must have been in a lot of pain before we arrived tonight."

"Excuse me gentlemen," Inspector Reid interjected, and as the two men turned to look at him they observed that he was now standing – but only just – a short distance behind them. He was struggling on with his jacket, and as Sergeant Drake hurried to assist him Reid turned to him and released a pained hiss from between tightly clenched teeth. "Thank you Bennett," he forced a smile, "I am indebted to you for all of your help tonight."

"Don't mention it sir. You'd have done the same for me." Sergeant Drake smiled, and as Jackson approached the two men he thrust the rolled up blanket haphazardly into Drake's arms. The Sergeant caught it but not before aiming a contemptuous look in the ex-Army surgeon's direction. The American then took Reid around the waist and having thrust his un-maimed arm over one shoulder began to guide the Inspector from the room.

"Sergeant Artherton, I'm afraid Inspector Reid has been taken ill." Sergeant Drake explained to the wily man manning the front desk as they both escorted Reid from his office and Jackson accompanied the Inspector outside to the awaiting cab, before returning for the blanket thrust underneath Drake's arm. "Our American friend is taking him home for the night to rest."

"Yes," The Sergeant nodded and released a long sigh, scratching his ginger beard thoughtfully, "I'm afraid I heard that Captain Jackson had been summoned to tend to an officer this night. I must confess my concern for the Inspector when I heard, he didn't look too healthy when I last spoke to him a couple of hours ago."

"Reid will be fine. You just focus on keeping peace in the streets so that we don't all get murdered in our beds." Jackson slurred in his thick native accent as he returned to retrieve the blanket from Drake's arms, before being swallowed up by the dark night.

The American kept a close eye on Reid as he drifted in and out of consciousness throughout the duration of the journey to the brothel. The morphine had done its job, and Jackson covered him over with the blanket in order to keep him warm. He was somewhat worried about how he was going to transfer the sleeping Detective from the cab into the house, and upstairs into the only empty room which remained, but as the cab ricocheted off every bump in the road Reid was shaken unceremoniously back to consciousness and Jackson realised that he was only dozing – the pain in his shoulder preventing him from giving himself over to unconsciousness completely. This was good Jackson thought, he wanted the Inspector to rest, but not until he was comfortably settled back at the house.

The arrival of the Inspector prompted a great deal of curiosity from the girls and they watched with curious eyes as upon their arrival he was helped through the front door and then up the stairs by the Captain and Susan before she set off in search of some spare pyjamas for him – it becoming rapidly quite clear that he couldn't sleep in the suit he was still currently wearing. There wasn't much call for items of spare clothing in their line of work, but she felt sure that there must be some somewhere, and she eventually located a pair which she thought would probably suit the Inspector's size.

Once Reid was finally settled, and between the two of them they'd managed to get him into the bed Jackson then set to work trying to make him as comfortable as possible. He applied alternating cold and heated compresses to cool the inflamed skin and to relax the muscle, and another dose of morphine had finally succeeded in taming the pain. Despite the elevated concentration of opiates in his blood Reid was still refusing to completely relinquish his hold on consciousness however, and through his drowsiness he thought that he had heard Jackson and Susan talking in hushed tones.

"I'd better stay with him tonight." He thought he heard the Captain say to his wife in his distinct American dialect. "I want to keep an eye on him, and he may need more morphine before the night is out."

"What's the matter with him?" He heard Susan ask.

"I'm not sure," Jackson responded. "He's in a lot of pain. There's an old injury to his shoulder and apparently he's been sleeping rough since his wife… well," Reid heard him falter as he touched upon the delicate subject of Emily, "You know the rest," He sighed, "but I'll know more when he's asleep and I've been able to perform a more thorough examination."

Reid didn't really want to fall asleep. In his mind to fall asleep now would just be another sign of weakness in front of the American doctor, but the morphine's growing effect over his exhausted body was just too powerful a force and within the hour he'd lost the will to carry on fighting the effects of the drug. His breathing eventually slowed and became more shallow, and as his eyes closed his grip finally slackened upon his shoulder. Finally his head lolled, and he fell into a deep and restful sleep. His breathing although now much easier was still noisy and wheezy sounding however and despite his earlier doubt after a more through examination Jackson suspected that Reid was probably suffering from a mild infection which would clear up after a day or two.

When Reid next awoke the morphine kept him at the periphery of consciousness, but as his senses slowly began to return to him he became vaguely aware of the sensation of cold water running down the sides of his head and soaking into his pillow. His eyelids felt heavy but as he managed to prise them open the figure of Jackson sitting at the foot of his bed loomed into view, and he realised that the soggy cloth dripping water in small pools onto either side of his pillow was in fact a cold compress intended to quell the heat of his burning flesh.

"How are you feeling?" The American asked, as he learnt forwards to remove the damp wash cloth from Reid's forehead, placing the back of his hand against his skin as he did so, and evidently not liking what he found he promptly soaked the cloth in a bowl of cold water at the side of the bed and wrung it out, before replacing it once again. The Inspector gently flexed each of his tender limbs, and although still stiff he was relieved to discover that he was no longer in any pain. His head throbbed and his chest ached, but this was a fair compromise he thought, considering his earlier discomfort.

"A little better. Thank you Jackson." He nodded his thanks to the young American, whom he was quite surprised simply regarded him with raised eyebrows and an uncertain half smile.

"Your fever peaked whilst you were asleep." He revealed – explaining the reason for his concerned expression – and as he lifted a thermometer from the small cabinet at the side of the bed he turned back to look down at the Inspector – his face set serious. Reid watched as he shook the small implement vigorously a couple of times in order to restore the mercury's natural state.

"Here," He offered as he held the small glass thermometer out for Reid, who immediately opened his mouth so that Jackson could slip it under his tongue. "You have a mild chest infection," The young American explained, returning to his position at the foot of the bed, "and I don't think that your lack of proper sleep over the past few evenings can have helped matters much. I'd like you to stay here for the next couple of days so that you can rest, and where I can keep an eye on you."

"Thank you Jackson," The Inspector began to protest through tightly pursed lips, "but…"

The doctor was quick to interject however.

"Reid this could be serious." He implored as he finally removed the thermometer from the Inspector's mouth and took a look at the reading. As he observed the tiny number the mercury had peaked at he sighed and shook his head gravely. "Your body is exhausted and the pain you were in only a couple of hours ago isn't the worst of it. Pain due to injury, no matter how severe, is one thing, I can treat that fairly efficiently with morphine, but a chest infection could kill you if allowed to fester." He sighed. "I'm afraid it's either here or at home, but if there's one thing the past few hours should have taught you it's that you need to be resting!"

Inspector Reid regarded him for a moment. His head still throbbed, his chest ached, his throat was already slightly sore, and despite the fact that the morphine had manage to quell much of his earlier discomfort his shoulder still protested viciously with every slight move he made. Finally he had to concede defeat.

He nodded, albeit reluctantly.

"Thank you Jackson." He sighed. "You're a good man."

"Well I wouldn't say that Reid." The American laughed as he rose from his position to toss a couple of extra blocks of coal onto the small fire burning in the corner of the room, and to open the bedroom windows to let some of the cool early morning air into the small space. "You've still only known me a comparatively short amount of time."

"Maybe," Reid conceded, "but the past doesn't matter, it's in the past. I know you now, and that's enough."

Jackson looked at him curiously, and their eyes met across the room for a moment – this, he wondered, coming from a man who had more to fear from his past than most? But perhaps that gave them a better understanding of each other – and for his own part Jackson was really very fond of Reid. He'd given him a job, and allowed him to practice medicine again after only a very short period of knowing him. He'd placed his trust in a man he barely even knew, and in the time he'd known him Jackson had begun to regard the Inspector as the closest thing to a real friend he'd ever had – and for now that was enough for him too.


End file.
